Authors: Tracey Livesay
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BOUT LOVE
and trust, combined with the memory of Chelsea’s sobs as he walked away, haunted him and he couldn’t ignore the hypothesis that the issues highlighted by her and Mike started before he’d ever met them. That theory induced him to leave San Francisco, the night before the most important event of his career, and head east.
Three hours later, under a full moon in the starry Colorado sky, Adam rang the doorbell of his father’s home and waited to be admitted. Numerous times—in the helicopter, on the private plane, in the car from the airport—he’d questioned the prudence of his decision, but he proceeded, intent on seeking answers.
The porch light illuminated above him and the door opened. Rick Bennett stood blinking in a hastily belted robe, his short graying hair tousled, a long cast covering his left leg from just below his knee. They spoke concurrently.
“What happened to your foot?”
“What are you doing here?”
Adam strode across the threshold, closing the thick wooden door behind him and taking his father’s arm. “Let’s get you settled.”
He helped the older man into the open family room, the rhythmic thump of his cast against the wide planked floors a somber accompaniment. Adam settled him in his favorite recliner and engaged the padded footrest. Pulling the Aztec fabric ottoman closer to the chair, he perched on its corner and rested his elbows on his knees. “What happened?”
“It was stupid. I broke my ankle playing softball,” Dad said, bracing against the armrests and shifting in the chair.
He exhaled and bowed his head, allowing himself a tiny measure of relief. At least he hadn’t been assaulted or injured in an accident. “You’re still playing?”
“In the town’s senior softball league.”
In his formative years, Adam had been heavily influenced by his father’s active nature. Skiing, hiking, rafting, Dad always emphasized physical endeavors.
“When did it happen?”
“About three weeks ago.”
Three weeks?
What the fuck?
He crossed his arms and averted his head, unable to meet his father’s gaze. It didn’t take a genius to understand why the majority of his significant relationships were broken. “I didn’t know.”
“I’m fine. There was no need to worry you.”
He cleared his throat. “Should you be walking on it?”
“I usually don’t. I keep it elevated most of the time and Sarah comes over and checks on me during her breaks from the hospital. But when someone rings your doorbell at nine at night, it tends to get the adrenaline pumping. I acted without thinking.”
Though he was grateful both of his sisters lived nearby, it annoyed Adam that Sarah hadn’t called to inform him of the situation. He could’ve arranged for a private nurse. He made a mental note to contact local agencies after the launch.
“How is Sarah?”
Dad smiled. “Doing well. She and Douglas just bought a house over in Rippon Landing.”
“And Amy?”
“Still working at the bank. Been dating a local firefighter. I think it’s getting serious.” Dad leaned forward and crossed his hands over his stomach. “But I have a sneaking suspicion you didn’t fly over two hours, the night before your big product launch, to ask me about your sisters.”
Adam’s gaze flew to his father’s. “You know about the presentation?”
Dad laughed. “We live in Colorado, not outer space.”
Adam frowned. “Would that be a ‘yes’?”
“That would be a ‘yes.’ Are you excited?”
His pulse accelerated. “The new device we’re unveiling is cutting-edge. It’s the best thing I’ve ever worked on.”
“The girls are coming over tomorrow and we’re watching it on the computer. I wish I could be there with you, but getting around in this thing”—he knocked on the cast—“is a pain in the ass.”
Adam raised a brow. “You would’ve come to the launch?”
“Of course.”
But— “The last time I extended an invitation, you left before the event ended. I thought you regretted attending.”
“I could never regret the chance to see you. But I underestimated the demands on your time. You were so busy and . . . it didn’t feel like the appropriate time to visit. I should’ve checked with you, but we left, assuming that’s what you’d want.” Dad pulled the edges of his robe together. “I figured you might still be mad about that.”
“I’m not angry,” he said, his voice low.
Chelsea had been right. Another instance of his word merry-go-round, except not much talking was done. Just assumptions made.
“So, what’s going on?” his father asked.
“I—” Adam took a breath and started again. “Do you— Did you ever wish I was normal?”
The words spilled from him and seemed to be augmented by the resulting silence.
Dad’s head jerked back, grooves appearing in his forehead. “Where is this coming from?”
“I need to know.”
His father stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Raising you was . . . challenging, exhausting, humbling.”
The dizziness caught Adam unawares. He dropped his head and fought to draw air into his constricted lungs. Having doubts was one thing, but knowing you were right . . .
“It was also exhilarating, wondrous, and awe-inspiring.”
Adam looked up.
“Son, there’s no such thing as normal. We all have our issues.”
“Not like mine.”
“It wasn’t always easy, but I wouldn’t change you. I’d change myself. I could’ve done better. When you began to pull away from us, I could’ve fought it. But I was ashamed that I hadn’t done a better job of protecting you. From your mother and the world. How could I protect you? I could barely keep up with you. By the time you left for college, you’d put us in your rearview mirror . . . and I let you. One of the biggest mistakes of my life.”
Adam shook his head dismissively. “You don’t have to say that.”
“Yes, I do. Because it’s the truth.”
He hung his head. “If it were true, if I were so damned ‘awe-inspiring,’ why did Mom leave?”
“Oh, Adam.” Dad surged forward, collapsing the padded footrest and bringing both feet to the floor. “So that’s what this is about. You haven’t asked about your mother in a long time.”
“Ten years.” The last time he’d just sold his first company for over four million dollars. The acquisition had made national news. Surely his mother would hear about his success . . . He massaged his temples, suddenly wishing he’d remained in San Francisco. What had caused him to unearth these issues when he’d dealt with them years ago?
“There are things a parent wishes to never share with their child.” His father sighed. “Your mother and I were having problems before you were born.”
Adam stilled. That was new information.
“We almost filed for divorce several times. But then she got pregnant again and we learned we were finally having a boy. We wanted to make our family work.”
His stomach churned. “Only I didn’t turn out to the boy she wanted.”
“There was a hole in your mother’s spirit that none of us could fill. It wasn’t just you. It was the same with your sisters.” Dad rubbed the back of his neck. “With me.”
Adam ingested this new familial data.
“You were six the first time you solved a quadratic equation. Your mother couldn’t believe it. She sent me out to buy a high school math textbook and you zipped through it like you were reading a Dr. Seuss book. That experience . . . it energized your mother.” He winced. “That was probably unfair to put on a child, but she seemed to have a purpose. A special identity.”
“Then I was diagnosed.”
“Yes,” Dad said. “She started zoning out, looking for something else. I recognized the symptoms and I’d had enough. I told her she needed to get help or leave. She chose to leave.”
Adam pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids to stem the tears. “I always believed it was my fault that she left. That I was weird and unlovable. I thought you, Sarah, and Amy blamed me, too.”
His father squeezed his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, son. No one ever blamed you, not for one moment.”
He let his hands drop and stared at his father through tear-spiked lashes. “She’s my mother. If anyone is supposed to love me, it should be her.” And the scariest part— “If she couldn’t, how can I trust anyone else to?”
“You’ve got to let that go. You are not defined by the mistakes of your parents.”
“Aren’t I? Mom, Birgitta and now Ch—” He clenched his teeth. “I’m the common denominator.”
“Love isn’t logical, Adam.”
“Then how do you trust it?”
“It may be hard for you to believe, but I think you’re uniquely qualified to figure that out. Say you have strong feelings for a woman. Some would assume that’s enough and give in to it. But there has to be a rational component and that’s where you excel. Is she a good person? Does she have goals? Do you have things in common? Can you carry on a conversation with her? Does she make you feel good about yourself? Because the initial euphoria will wither away. And it’s the answers to those questions that will feed the fire and keep it going.”
Adam sighed. “Not only are you utilizing metaphors, Dad, you’re mixing them.”
“How about this? If you’re lucky enough to find someone who appeals to you, both physically and intellectually, then you owe it to yourself to give it a shot. So”—his father pursed his lips—“who is she?”
“Who?”
“Only a woman can cause a man to start questioning his life.”
“Her name is Chelsea. But I hurt her, Dad.” He recalled her tears and pleading. “Badly.”
“You’re the smartest person I know. When you care, there’s no problem that can stand between you and the solution. The question is, do you care?”
More than he ever thought was possible. Chelsea had shown him that even a genius had things to learn. And instead of making him feel shame for his differences, she understood and accepted him. Even the “lessons” she’d offered had enhanced who he was, instead of changing him as he’d feared. Getting the new clothes had been a good idea. Learning to relax and imagine others’ perspectives had only made engaging with others easier. In fact, when he thought back through his entire association with Chelsea, he realized everything he’d learned from her had augmented his life, not weakened it. The antithesis of his experience with Birgitta.
He settled for a simple “Yes.”
“Then you’ll figure it out.” Dad hesitated and his eyes watered. “This is the longest conversation we’ve had in years. Whatever happens between the two of you, she’ll always have my gratitude for that.”
It was half-past eleven when Adam landed back in San Francisco. He’d succumbed to a moment of impulsivity when he’d headed to Colorado over six hours ago, but it turned out to be a judicious use of his time. It had allowed him to begin mending the relationship with his father, after years lost due to incorrect assumptions about their feelings. He was determined to visit again soon, and spend time with his entire family.
But first, he had a presentation to deliver.
He turned his phone back on, startled to see missed calls from Mike and Jonathan, as well as numerous ones from a number he didn’t recognize, tagged Los Angeles, CA.
Chelsea?
No, it wasn’t her. Her number and picture were programmed into his phone. What if it was
about
her? Before he could access his voice mail and listen to the messages left, his phone rang and the caller ID displayed that same Los Angeles number.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Bennett, this is Howard Richter from Beecher & Stowe.”
Beecher & Stowe. That was the fucking company Mike had mentioned, the PR firm where Chelsea worked.
“Why are you calling me?”
“I apologize for disturbing you at this hour the night before your presentation, but I needed to speak with you.”
“I don’t know Chelsea’s whereabouts. Try her cell phone.”
“Chelsea Grant is no longer an employee of our company, so she isn’t our concern. You are. Mr. Black hired us on behalf of your company and our job was to prepare you for the launch.”
He’d ceased paying attention after the man’s first sentence. Chelsea no longer worked for them? “What do you mean she isn’t an employee?”
“Ms. Grant handed in her notice. We’re mortified that she left you without guidance for your presentation, but we’ve already assigned someone from our office here in LA to—”
Chelsea resigned? Why would she do that? Her job and the partnership meant everything to her.
The partnership means nothing to me if I lose you because of it.
It was all within her grasp and she’d relinquished it. Because of him. She’d told him he meant more to her than the partnership, but they both knew more than words were needed to decipher a person’s true intentions. Chelsea had buttressed her words with the one action guaranteed to prove she’d meant what she’d said.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was an ass. Had he lost her for good? Or was her resignation a way of communicating that he still had a chance? He chose to believe the latter option. He sure as hell didn’t deserve her, but she loved him and he needed that hopefulness if he had any chance of winning her back.
He interrupted the man who was still talking. “I don’t want a new PR rep. I want Chelsea. If you want to keep Computronix as a client, you’ll make sure she’s at the presentation tomorrow.”
He disconnected the call and hurried to his waiting car, his brain formulating a plan. Being a genius had its advantages. He couldn’t afford to lose more valuable time.
C
HELSEA STOOD IN
the back of the large room and catalogued the assembled audience. Reporters from tech blogs, computer journals, and twenty-four-hour news outlets rubbed shoulders with reporters covering pop culture, entertainment news, and financial trends. Howard had been right. This launch was big news and everyone was excited to see what Computronix was promoting.
“It’s about to start,” she told Indi, clutching her cell phone to her ear. She cleared her throat, trying again, without success, to dislodge the boulder that sat squarely mid-trachea. Her eyes were gritty after a sleepless night and hours of crying, and it had taken a deft and skillful hand with her makeup to mask the effects of yesterday’s breakup with Adam. She was grateful her outside appeared poised and confident, even though her inside was an unruly, chaotic mess.
“Why are you attending the presentation? You can leave right now. Come visit me in Nashville,” Indi said.
“Howard asked me to stay,” Chelsea said.
Indi scoffed. “I’m calling bullshit.”
It wasn’t bullshit . . . not exactly. Late last night she’d received a surprising phone call from her former supervisor asking her to stay for the presentation. Despite her resignation, Beecher & Stowe still had a stake in the outcome. They hoped if things went well, and with the offending party gone, Computronix would continue to use their services. She’d told him she’d be here, but not on their behalf.
“You’re staying for him, aren’t you?”
There was no place she’d rather be.
She needed to see the presentation. She hoped Adam hadn’t let what happened between them derail his progress. What she hadn’t admitted to Indi was that she was determined to convince him to give her another chance. She had no reason to believe he would, but she had to try.
He’d been so cold in the elevator, his expression closed, his stance rigid, his arms crossed across his chest, keeping her at a distance. He’d erected a brick wall between them and with each plea she uttered he’d mortared another stone into place. She should’ve followed her instincts and told him the truth from the beginning.
Was she so desperate to be accepted that she was willing to give up her integrity? Even if she’d gotten away with it, her soul would’ve been forever stained. She used to pride herself on being honest with her clients, but she’d never be able to make that claim again. And why? For more money and a corner office? For the outer trappings of success that would say she’d arrived? That she was worthy?
Was she really any different from the woman who’d given birth to her? Her mother had lost herself in a succession of men. Had she defined herself by them? Had being with them made her feel better about herself? Was she—Chelsea—suffering from the same affliction? Had she looked to a job and a partnership to validate who
she
was? Had she actually ended up like her mother, just in a different tax bracket?
Why hadn’t she realized—before it was too late—it didn’t matter what she had, in the end it was about who she was? Hadn’t she seen that lesson replayed over and over with her clients? She dealt with some of the best in the entertainment field. People who were lauded, worshipped, and had loads of money. Yet they were some of the unhappiest people she knew. She refused to follow that path, to spend the rest of her life embracing power and pulchritude at the expense of her principles.
“I love him,” she said, simply.
“Then do what you have to. If you need anything, you call me. And the invitation to visit is open.”
The telltale stinging pressure began and through sheer force of will, Chelsea held the tears at bay. No more tears. If she lost any more moisture, she’d begin to prune.
“Thanks, Indi,” she said and disconnected the call.
She inhaled deeply, expelling all of her fears and doubts. Clutching her bag close, she moved down the aisle, searching for an available seat in the back. The lights in the room were up and the stage was lit, though empty. She wondered where Adam was and what he was doing. Was he nervous or calm? Was he using any of the relaxation breathing she’d taught him? Was he even here? She spied an available seat on the inner aisle and headed toward it when someone called her name.
She turned. It wouldn’t be unusual for someone here to know her. She dealt with the press often and there was certain to be entertainment reporters present that she dealt with during her time at Beecher & Stowe. But when she discovered the source of the call, surprise froze her to the spot.
“I heard what happened. Are you okay?” Adam’s friend, Jonathan Moran, stood before her, a sad smile marring his handsome face. She recalled the chef saying he planned to attend the launch.
“Bad news travels fast,” she said, attempting to lighten the mood. She wasn’t sure what the man knew or heard and she wasn’t keen on rehashing everything in such a public place.
“The Friends of Adam Bennett club is pretty small, so . . .” He shrugged, his brown eyes kind. “Seriously, are you okay?”
“No, but I will be.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here. It means you haven’t given up on him. What happened took him by surprise, but the man
is
a genius. It won’t take him long to realize how happy you make him. Come on, I grabbed us a couple of seats up front.”
Her mouth was as arid as the Sahara. She swallowed and let her gaze dart around the room. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I planned to sit back here—”
“Nonsense.” He took her elbow and guided her down to two prime seats on the front row. They’d just settled in when the lights dimmed and an excited murmur surfed the crowd. A swarm of butterflies nose-dived in her stomach and she placed her hand there, wrangling them.
You can do it, Adam.
A spotlight illuminated the far side of the stage and Mike stood at the podium in a dark, slim-cut suit, his fair hair gleaming. Disappointment tore through her with swift surgical precision. She lowered her head and pressed her lips tight to prevent crying out. Adam wasn’t here. He hadn’t been able to get past what she’d done.
This doesn’t mean anything, Chelsea. You always knew they were both doing the presentation.
Mike flashed a charming smile and rested an arm on the dais. “Apple did it in 1984. They invented the Macintosh and changed the computer industry.”
Behind him, a picture of the aforementioned computer appeared on one of the large screens.
“In 1985, Nintendo introduced the Nintendo Entertainment System and revitalized the home video gaming market. Apple did it again in 2001 when they created the iPod, transforming the music industry, and again in 2007 with the introduction of the iPhone. Amazon did it with the creation of the Kindle, as they shifted the publishing industry. Computronix is proud to join this distinguished list of pioneers.”
A spotlight on the side of the stage closest to her highlighted Adam standing there.
Those butterflies soared in flights of fancy. She leaned forward, a smile blooming on her face. He wore dark jeans, a navy V-neck sweater over a crisp white-collared shirt and a pair of his favorite sneakers. Stubble covered his strong jawline, giving him the look of a brawny intellectual. Not
GQ
, not geek chic. But all Adam. And he was gorgeous. She clasped her hands together and pressed her knuckles to her lips.
No one would necessarily say he was comfortable, but he was calm. He inhaled and she saw his lips moving. He was counting and doing the deep breathing exercises she’d taught him. He exhaled and began.
“What if you could check your email, update your status, conduct your business, all without being tied to bulky hardware? What if you could seamlessly incorporate your conventional and technical worlds? What if the only element you needed to access your computer was air?
“For the past two and a half years I’ve dreamt about this day and it’s finally here. My name is Adam Bennett and I give you the Holographic Personal Computer, or the HPC.”
The stage went black. Whispers and nervous titters tore through the audience like a dry brush fire. On the stage, a holographic image appeared in front of Adam. The audience gasped. Chelsea experienced the same thrill of awe and amazement as she had the first time Adam had demonstrated it for her, in his house on the mountain.
“Today, we change the way you’ll interact with personal computing.”
Thirty minutes later he completed his portion of the presentation. The auditorium erupted in sound as people leapt to their feet and began clapping. The applause was loud and lengthy. Adam smiled his “sell-a-million-HPCs” smile and raised his fist in the air.
Mike rejoined him on stage. “Thank you. We’ll take questions now.”
A dizzying cacophony of sound accompanied the numerous hands flying upward. Mike handled the questions about availability and price points, but Adam fielded the ones about the technology.
Would other Computronix devices have a holographic interface?
Was the processing efficient?
How long was the battery life?
Would speech recognition come standard?
He stayed calm and appeared relaxed, answering the questions clearly with no lapses of condescension, employing all the lessons they’d worked on. Tears stung her eyes. She was so proud of him. He’d done a great job. This was going to be a success.
“Our viewers want to know if the Sexiest Man Alive is wearing boxers or briefs?”
Chelsea stiffened at the question from an entertainment news channel’s fashion police.
Adam smiled. “I’m no longer the sexiest man alive. I believe that title was passed to another genetically blessed individual. However, I
can
report that I’m going commando.”
Laughter followed his response. This was better than Chelsea had ever imagined. She should’ve known to never underestimate him. He’d proven more than once that he could do anything he put his mind to.
Except forgive you.
Adam stepped to the front of the stage. “I’m going to beg your indulgence for a moment. There’s someone here who asked me some questions yesterday and I didn’t answer them to the best of my ability. I’m ready now.” He shielded his eyes and peered into the audience. “Is Chelsea Grant from
Mountaintop Today
here?”
Blood rushed from her face to her heart, then turned around and made the return trip just as fast, leaving her light-headed. Had she heard him correctly?
Beside her, Jonathan stood and she stared up at him, dumbfounded. His dark hair fell charmingly over his forehead and a large smile brightened his face. He held out his hand and she took it, rising to her feet.
“Showtime,” he said, and walked her over to the right side of the stage, away from Adam.
A random thought popped into her head. She didn’t know what was about to happen, but at least she looked her best. The coral dress with its asymmetrical hem emphasized her long legs and the color popped against her skin.
Mike met her at the stage and took her hand from Jonathan. He helped her up the stairs. “If you make him happy, then I’m happy,” he whispered in her ear.
Then her brain went blank, as she stood alone on the stage, with Adam.
After several moments of silence, his eyes widened comically and he looked at the audience in apprehension. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
She leaned toward him. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Ask me a question.”
“Here? In front of all of these people?”
He smiled. “Aren’t we both tired of worrying what other people think of us?”
It suddenly struck her that she was part of a press conference. Where she’d used to love watching as a spectator sport, she had now become the participant. It wasn’t as enjoyable.
“Um, what will be a successful market share—”
He shook his head. “Not that type of question.”
She could hear the audience murmuring, but they couldn’t be more confused than she was. What did he expect her to do?
Think, Chelsea
.
Mountaintop Today
, questions from yesterday . . .
There was only one thing she cared about and it wasn’t the HPC or Computronix’s profit share. But could she do this? Here, in front of all of these people? She’d often made her clients issue apologies or address their behavior in a public arena, for money, to save their career, or rehab their reputation. Wasn’t her future happiness and the love in her heart more important than those superficial goals?
She tried to call on her years of professional poise, but it refused to answer. This was too personal. She had too much at stake. She licked her lips. Her heart was beating so loud she was certain everyone in the room could hear it.
“Your last launch didn’t go well, but today’s was a success. You were granted a second chance. Do you grant them in your personal life, or is it always one strike and you’re done?”
The room fell quiet, waiting for his response.
“It used to be. Recently I was told people aren’t computers. They make mistakes.”
“So you’d consider forgiving that person?”
“Under the right circumstances.”
“And what are those circumstances?”
He moved closer to her and cupped her cheek. “Our circumstances.”
She exhaled shakily as lightness engulfed her being. It wasn’t over.
“Can I ask
you
a question?” he said, surprising her.
“Of course.”
“Do you know who Gottfried Leibniz was?”
It was like a cosmic needle scratch on a blissful moment. “No.”
“He was a German mathematician and philosopher. His best-known contribution to metaphysics is his theory of the monad,” Adam continued, despite her puzzled expression. “He posited that monads are the ultimate elements of the universe and that all substances, no matter how big or small, are made up of an infinite number of monads.”
“Uh, Adam? I think you’re getting a tad bit off track.”
He laughed, his beautiful blue eyes warm, clear, and shining, and she was willing to listen to a thousand lectures if it meant he would continue looking at her that way. He cradled her face between his palms, his thumbs skimming over her skin. Like an affectionate suntan, his regard warmed her, marked her as his.